Soft
by Shipperwolf
Summary: "Part of me was angry when Daryl came bursting in here with you." A Caryl/Rick ficlet. Possible/speculated spoilers for 3x06.


**Another random somethin' from my brain for you guys!**

**Seriously though, I was inspired by some POSSIBLE spoilers I read *concerning the fate of Carol*, so, be warned of such. I also had a nagging need to write an interaction between Rick and Carol. I don't know. So yeah.**

**You'll be relieved to know there is a bit of obvious Caryl as well, however!**

**I disclaim all the stuff, and hope you enjoy!**

* * *

She remembered a loud crack, the draft of air hitting her sticky, sweat-soaked skin. She remembered a hesitant murmur in her ear. The feeling of two strong arms lifting her from the hard floor.

Her skin stung, her muscles ached.

She was so thirsty that she wasn't.

She couldn't speak. She didn't open her eyes.

She slept.

* * *

The footsteps sounded muffled, closing in slowly, heavy in their step.

Carol cracked open an eye. Immediately shut it tight against the splitting pain in her head. She groaned a little, and grimaced at the sound as it hit her ears. She sounded pathetic.

She _felt_ pathetic.

She couldn't recall how far she'd run in the dark corridors of the prison, or how long she had laid in that chilled, wet, empty closet, waiting for the Walkers to move on and forget her. She only knew that at some point, exhaustion had won the fight for her body and she had begun to fade in and out of consciousness, hunger and thirst and bumps and bruises reducing her to a limp, feverish mess.

And then she remembered the mumbling in her ear. The whisper that brought her just close enough to the waking world for her to lift a hand and force out a name in return:

"Daryl…"

That word alone, she suspected, is the only thing that kept him from putting an arrow in her skull.

She also suspected, as she concentrated on both willing the headache away and listening to the world around her, that Daryl was the one that had come to sit just next to whatever bed she was lying in, breathing deeply but evenly and the only living thing making a sound in the room.

As she lay still and silent, she wondered if he was sleeping.

Or simply watching her.

The memory of his hands slipping under her body to lift her up as if she was weightless brought a small smile to her lips.

And then it disappeared just as quickly, because her lips were dry as the Sahara and it stung like hell to move even _them_.

She wanted to utter a curse, then, a habit that had begun to form over the many months since they'd left the farm. She blamed it, of course, on Daryl. Often accused him of being a 'bad influence'. Always did so with a laugh in her voice.

She fought another smile.

She was glad he had found her.

* * *

At some point she had dozed off again, and when she woke it was to the feel of _those_ hands on her body.

One was slipping under upper back. The other was shaking her shoulder lightly.

His voiced reached her ears, but she still refused to open her eyes.

"Carol. Hey. Listen, you need to drink this, come on…." As she registered his words the roughened edge of a broken glass met her lips, and she immediately exhaled and opened her mouth to drink.

The water was cool, but not cold.

Her throat rejoiced.

Her lips gave thanks.

She smiled.

But did not open her eyes.

* * *

They were whispering to each other, and she just caught enough to realize who was in the room:

"How's she doing?"

"Sleepin' a lot. Drinking some. Hershel says she's dehydrated."

"She'll be fine after more rest."

"….Yeah."

Daryl, it sounded, was just beside her as usual. His voice seemed awfully loud, despite his attempt to whisper.

Rick was further away. At the door?

That now-familiar touch landed on her again. This time on her forehead. Daryl's fingers were slightly cool, and she figured she was fighting down a fever. The back of his hand wiped at her cheek and she heard him exhale softly, as if sighing. The hand shifted again and the rough pad of what she assumed to be his thumb wiped at the corner of her eye.

A tear? Was she crying?

She couldn't really tell.

But for those few milliseconds of time Carol focused on the swipe of that thumb, the work-worn scratchy skin catching at her own.

And then it was gone, and the presence next to her was as well.

A step or two and Daryl's voice was a grumble:

"Gonna go check on the baby."

Carol felt her heartbeat skyrocket.

The _baby_?

Born. Safe. _Alive_.

_Thank God._

Rick's response was clipped and it made her want to frown.

"Fine."

She didn't understand it for moment, the feeling she heard in his voice. It wasn't anger. It was…

Bitterness?

And then the horrible pieces, coming together like a puzzle from Hell:

Lori must have not survived the birth. Why else would Daryl be checking on the baby instead of Rick?

_Jesus. Lori…_

Another tear slipped from her eyes and this time, those calloused fingers weren't there to catch it.

* * *

More breathing next to her. When had she fallen asleep again?

Just _how_ damn dehydrated was she?

The breaths were softer, but still heavy. A man's. A sleeping Daryl maybe?

Setting her jaw Carol moved her head to side, and realized the headache had ebbed considerably. Cracking open her eyes she saw only a blur. The sharp throb in her head had her closing them again with renewed frustration.

_Dammit!_

She wanted to be out of the bed and with the others. With Carl. With Beth. With the baby.

She wondered how long she had been sleeping, how long it had been since Daryl had found her. A few days? A few _hours_?

The hours would certainly _feel _like days in this state…

"Part of me was angry when Daryl came bursting in here with you."

The whisper had her going rigid in the bed. It was Rick's, and it was close.

It was also low and shaky.

"The moment I saw the look on his face I knew you were alive, and I…." He trailed, inhaled deeply. She heard it clearly because he was literally _just _beside her, in the seat normally occupied by Daryl.

"I was angry because he thought he'd lost you, and then….he got to feel that relief. Knowing you were still here. And I—"Warm fingers slid onto her wrist.

Carol held her breath but didn't feel fear. She'd long since gotten over her mistrust of their group leader. Rick was a good man, dealing with a living hell he never could have dreamed up. And now dealing with his worst nightmares come to life.

His wife was dead.

The fingers- so soft, she realized, so different from Daryl's- slid down to her hand and curled around her own.

"I just wanted to apologize for that. For being angry. For _hating_ seeing you alive. For wishing, just for a moment, that_ you_ were dead instead of Lori…"

She couldn't take the pain in her eyes. They opened like floodgates and as the tears fell, her vision fought to sharpen against the light. She just made out Rick's face beside her, eyes meeting hers and fighting their own exhaustion.

Rick smiled weakly at her. Squeezed her hand gently.

"Glad you're back, Carol."


End file.
